


Hands All Over

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Hotch x Reader / Hotch x You [11]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Based on a Maroon 5 Song, Bisexual Aaron Hotchner, Bisexual Male Character, Boss/Employee Relationship, Day 9 Kinktober, Day 9 Kinktober 2020, Day 9 Kinktober 2020 Hand & Finger Kink, Day 9 Kinktober Hand & Finger Kink, Day Nine Kinktober, Day Nine Kinktober 2020, Day Nine Kinktober 2020 Hand & Finger Kink, Day Nine Kinktober Hand & Finger Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Aaron Hotchner, Dom/sub, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hand & Finger Kink, Humiliation, Humiliation kink, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Kinktober 2020 Hand & Finger Kink, Kinktober Hand & Finger Kink, Kitten, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Name-Calling, One Shot, POV Second Person, Praise Kink, Prompt: Hand & Finger Kink, Rough Sex, Short One Shot, Sir Kink, Smut, Song Lyrics, Song: Hands All Over (Maroon 5), Spanking, Squirting, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, authority kink, bisexual reader, sub Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26920576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: At the gun range, Hotch knows exactly how to pull your trigger and really set you off.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You
Series: Hotch x Reader / Hotch x You [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862236
Kudos: 80





	Hands All Over

_"Love is a game you say,_

_play me and put me away."_

\- "Hands All Over," _Maroon 5_

* * *

You knew what you were getting into when you asked Hotch to help you train for your gun qualifications. To his credit, Hotch's face betrayed nothing as he just nodded and murmured, "Tomorrow at 7 sharp."

"Yes, Sir." That got the reaction you wanted as you saw Hotch's jaw ticked before he turned away from you, burying his nose in paperwork.

This was the most dangerous game to play with your boss, but it was one you both had been playing for a while. After all, if Hotch hadn't been receptive to your advances, you would have stopped, but he was anything but passive. There were lingering looks, hands pressed to the small of your back or brushing over your fingertips for exchanging files and coffee mugs. He was protective of you, and while he didn't exactly laugh at your jokes, you saw his eyes narrow and his lips twitch like he wanted to smile, but wouldn't let himself.

So, you both toed this line, and eventually you both crossed it one eventful afternoon in a storage closet. It was rushed and exhilarating, but not enough. You wanted more. That's why you picked the gun range. Spots had to be reserved, and if you both went it early rather than staying late, there was a less of a chance to get caught.

Of course, you had your other reasons. There was something about Hotch when he was aggressive. Now, in your line of work, usually Alpha males like that didn't cut it for you. There were usually unstable and emotionally unavailable and eventually abusive, but Hotch was anything but. He was confident. He was gentle. He was intelligent. He was…perfect.

You might love him; you weren't sure yet. But you definitely loved his hands. When he'd raise his gun, his hands made the deadly piece of metal look so small. When he held his phone to his ear, it was like it was a child's toy in comparison. You could picture those same hands around your neck, pinning down your hips, tossing you around like nothing, manhandling you like a ragdoll, like a fuck toy.

When the time came for your gun qualifications, you were already on edge and soaking yet. To build up anticipation, you hadn't played with yourself in a few days, wanting Hotch's hands to be the one to bring you to completion. What you didn't expect was for Hotch to actually take the gun qualification excuse seriously.

"Hotch, I asked you here to fuck," you informed him bluntly, your sexual frustration erasing your usual amount of coyness. Or maybe you were so frank because you rarely had a chance to meet with him in private. It was liberating to be alone with him, to speak your mind and pause the games for a moment or two.

"I know you did." Hotch was still as cool as a cucumber, entirely unruffled by your honesty. "But when the team asks how our training went, I want to know you can keep the story separate from our sex life."

"Why? Afraid that you won't satisfy?"

Hotch shot you a withering look. His next words, though, put you at ease. "Put those claws away for now, kitten, and come over here."

That had you shivering in anticipation. Your tone immediately changed, "Yes, Sir." You moved until you were standing in front of him, facing the cutouts with targets on their chests and faces. They were nothing compared to the real thing, you knew, because the real thing had eyes and families that would haunt your dreams. But your mind was on anything other than work as your twitched in anticipation of what was to come.

"Be still and correct your stance," Hotch ordered, seemingly unaffected. He sounded no different than when you were out in the field on a case. He waited impatiently for you to spread your legs until your knees were as far apart as your hips and your body was as taught as a bowstring. "No, no, stupid little slut. Do you need me to fix it for you?"

A little whiny, you looked back over your shoulder at him. "Please, Sir."

Huffing in mock disgust, Hotch shook his head and placed his hands on your body. Immediately, you became his marionette as he moved you how he wanted. His palm flatted against your spine right between your shoulder blades as he urged you to relax. Then his hands were folding over yours to raise them into position. Instead of using a real gun, though, Hotch just shaped your fingers to mimic one. He was still playing it safe, and you couldn't blame him. You weren't even naked yet, but your knees were still shaky.

"There you go, such a good Kitten for me," he murmured in your ear, his voice having a direct line to your clit. His praise sent your inner walls pulsing, and evidence of your arousal gushed on your already ruined underwear. "But we're not finished yet."

"What are you going to do, Sir?"

"I'm going to show you how to pull the trigger, Kitten." Hotch's hands wrapped around your front and dropped down your slacks. His fingers did not fumble as he unbuttoned and unzipped your pants. He did not merely push them down, but took the time to kneel and pull them all the way off, helping you to keep your balance by lifting each of your feet. You felt a little odd since you had kept your boots on, but feeling Hotch's steadying presence at your back kept you from getting too embarrassed. Under the heat of his eyes, you could never feel ridiculous.

As Hotch rose back up to his feet, he placed one hand on the inner side of your leg at your ankle. He leisurely dragged up higher and higher until it met the apex of your legs where your bare sex was sodden. "Such a mess already and I've barely touched you," Hotch commented with all the clinical observation of a supervisor. "I haven't even kissed you, you little slut. Such a dirty Kitten."  
You started to quake, and your voice was high and tremulous when you simpered, "All for you, Sir. Just for you."

"What got you this wet so quickly, Kitten?" Hotch questioned you as his fingers slipped up higher to circle around your clit, denying you what you so wanted. "Tell me what you were thinking about."

"You," the truth came easily, "your hands and how big they are. How your fingers could leave bruises on me that I'd keep for days and days." You broke off your confession in a whimper as Hotch withdrew those same fingers you fantasized about.

"Hands flat in front of you, Kitten."

"Yes, Sir." You did as he said, leaning some of your weight against the gun range table that for know was clear of any weaponry. You weren't sure where he was going with this yet.

"Eyes forward."

"Yes, Sir."

"Now, you're going to count." Your heart stopped at those instructions, but Hotch just continued, "I think five counts should do it. One for every finger, Kitten."

"Yes, sir." Your heart kicked into overdrive to catch up, your blood racing through your body to go simultaneously up and down. The blood rushing up swarming in your head, making you feel deliciously floaty and light. The blood rushing down could have easily been confused for butterflies in your stomach as your inner walls pulsed again in anticipation.

Without any more warning, Hotch's palm cracked down on your bottom, the first hit so hard that you had to brace your elbows so you wouldn't lose your balance and fall forward on the table. "Kitten?" Hotch prompted you.

"O-one, Sir," you gasped, still in a daze.

Another sharp crack rang through the air, the gun-range only amplifying the sound. "Two, Sir," you said this time without having to wait for instruction.

It was on the third count that Hotch switched to your other cheek. This time you could start to feel the pain, but it was the sound that startled you more. "Three, Sir."

The fourth one was the loudest yet, and you threw your head back to groan wantonly into the air before you remembered his instructions. You quickly corrected your form again, resisting the urge to rub your thighs together like a cricket. "Four, Sir."

With the last count, Hotch allowed his hand to linger as he rubbed his stinging palm into your burning cheeks. It was like he was rubbing in the hurt, ensuring that his mark would stay with you. His fingers were rough, digging into your cheeks greedily before slipping down between your legs. "Five, Sir," you whined as he slid both his index and middle finger inside of you.

"That's a good Kitten," Hotch murmured with equal parts fondness and pride. "Now how quickly do you think you can come just with my fingers?"

You moaned at the promise. Your hips started moving in time with the thrusts of his fingers. When he jammed them up, your pushed down, fucking yourself into his palm. With every curl of his fingers, he prodded at just the right spot, and while this wasn't the most comfortable position, it was already much better than the storage closet because you could breathe – you could get loud, so you did. "Oh, Sir! Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm so close."

"Naughty, Kitten," was all he said, neither granting nor denying permission. So, it was inherently a denial.

As you neared your peak, you knew what you had to do to get what you wanted. "Please, Sir, please. Can I come? Can I come all over your thick fingers fucking me so good? Oh, fuck!"

"You may," Hotch said as demurely as one could with their fingers inside someone else.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. It was just as wet as one, too, as you felt your release shoot on the floor, splattering you boots. Luckily, Hotch had tossed your slacks and underwear to the side out of the splash zone, saving them from the worst of the damage. While you trembled and tipped forward, resting your abdomen against the gun table to recover from your squirting episode, you were dimly aware of Hotch moving behind you.

Suddenly you could smell the musty stench of your sex as Hotch pushed his fingers under your nose. Without a word, you opened your mouth and then proceeded to gag on his fingers as he hooked them inside your mouth. You were still too lightheaded to suck properly, so your tongue just lazily flicked and laved over the digits. That was when you felt Hotch's cock rest at your entrance before he was easing himself inside.

You were so wet that his cock met little resistance, but your fluttering walls still gripped him greedily despite your orgasm. Hotch kept his fingers hooked in your mouth, the only thing holding you upright since your weak arms had given out, as he started fucking into you at a brutal pace.

With each thrust, his hips smacked against your tender ass, which only set it smarting after the spanking you had earlier. That was only five counts, but if it had been more, you're sure you would have been crying. As it is, you just moaned brokenly around the fingers in your mouth as Hotch started using you like you had so desired.

"I'm going to come," Hotch puffed in your ear, for the first time sounding as disheveled as you felt. "You can come if you want to, Kitten, but you've got to work for it."

Understanding the message, you sunk down lower as one hand disappeared between your legs. You started flicking your thus neglected clit, racing Hotch to the finish line as his rhythm started to falter and he increased his pace. He came first and gave a few odd thrusts to prolong his climax, causing his seed to push deeper and deeper inside of you. Compared to his grunt of release, your own shout of completion was deafening as your fingers danced over your clit and finally pushed a weaker orgasm out, milking Hotch's cock even more until his balls were truly empty.

Then the gun range was almost eerily quiet except for your pounding heartbeat in your eardrums and both yours and Hotch's combined panting. Instead of smelling like gun powder, the room stank like sex. It was a good improvement.

Hotch clambered off of you quickly, and when his softened cock slipped out, you clenched your thighs at the loss. You could feel him start to drip on the floor, and you hoped it didn't get on your boots. Behind you, you heard Hotch breathe a deep sigh before he clapped his hand down on your ass. "That's my good Kitten."

"Thank you, Sir."


End file.
